


People Like You

by GingerItt



Series: People Like Us [2]
Category: Glee
Genre: M/M, klaine AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-12-28
Updated: 2013-01-16
Packaged: 2017-11-22 18:58:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/613148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GingerItt/pseuds/GingerItt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>1960s Klaine AU, Blaine POV, a prequel to 'People Like Us'.  How Blaine and Kurt met.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“You’re late,” a sharp voice says through the intercom.

“I know, I’m sorry. My class let out late,” I explain. The rain and not having my bike hadn’t help either. “Can you buzz me up?”

The voice sighs and the electronic buzzing soon signals my entrance. I shake some of the rain off my coat and begin the climb to the top floor. 

This was a last resort. The week without my bike had been impossible. The circumstances of how it had been stolen didn’t matter but the whole ‘being late to everything’ did. I could have easily called up my mother and asked for a replacement but I knew that that would lead to having to come home and sitting through another dinner with a rich debutante looking for a husband. I was desperate but not a masochist.

In the end, it was David who suggested this. He knew this Kurt person through his sister and knew he was always looking for new models. She gave me his number and told me that he was expecting my call. The conversation had been brief, just an exchange of pleasantries and he asked me to describe what I looked like. He asked what my class schedule was like and told me to come to his studio on Friday at four o’clock. It was now quarter to five.

I finally make my way to the top floor, exhausted and sweaty, and knock on the lone door on the landing.

“It’s open!” the voice calls. I open the door to the studio and am struck by the blinding light streaming in through the windows and skylights. “Good, you’re here. I’m Kurt.” I turn and see a figure coming out of the bathroom with a towel in his hands.

Kurt is tall and lean. That’s the first thing I notice. The next is his eyes. They are a piercing blue, like the sky on a clear, winter day. Then I see his wet, dark hair and impossibly pale skin. He’s wearing loose black pants, a grey sleeveless shirt and is barefoot.

“B-Blaine,” I stutter. David and his sister hadn’t prepared me for this. Not that David would notice or care but his sister definitely should have mentioned it.

Kurt looks me up and down, probably hating me for the puddle I am leaving on his floor. He tosses me the towel. “Take off your coat and we’ll get started.”

I set down my bag and remove my soaking coat from my shoulders. Kurt had given me very specific instructions on what to wear and unfortunately, it was ruined. It was just a basic white undershirt and blue jeans but still. “Sorry, I’m so late,” I apologize, hanging my coat over a chair then rubbing the towel over my head. 

“It’s fine. The light is better now.” Kurt goes over to the small kitchenette and pulls a roll of film out of the refrigerator. “Let’s get started.”

“But I must look like a drowned rat.” I down to remove my boots and wet socks, eying Kurt as he shuffles around the studio, loading the film into his camera.

“You look fine. It’s different. I’m tired of taking pictures of perfect looking people.” He moves a stool in front of a grey backdrop.

“Oh, thanks, then,” I joke. Kurt sets his camera up on tripod and turns to smirk at me.

“You know what I mean. I spend my days going to Park Avenue penthouse to prep schools to churches and take pictures of people at their best because that how they want to be remembered. It pays the bills but it gets old.” He goes back to the kitchenette and lights the stove. “Would you like some tea?”

“Please.” I move in front of the backdrop and sit on the stool as Kurt puts the kettle on. The stool as a rotating seat and I spin a bit on it. My shirt is sticking to my skin and the jeans are uncomfortably tight but I am ready and willing to do this for the twenty dollars I was promised.

He comes back to his camera and peers through the viewfinder. “Tilt your head to the left. No, your left. Good.” He clicks the shutter and stands up, looking at me thoughtfully. He moves right in front of me, his pink tongue poking out between his lips. “Can I adjust something?”

“Sure,” I breathe as he comes closer. His longer fingers rake through my hair, breaking it into loose curls. “I have my pomade if you want. It gets kind of... unruly.”

Kurt twists his fingers around a lock of my hair. “No... I like it like this. It’s more... you.”

I shrug as he moves back to his camera. “I don’t know. It’s how I usually wear it.” He snaps another photograph as I speak. “Should I shut up?”

“No,” he says, taking another. “Keep talking. And relax. You look like you have a rod up your ass.” His words shock me and I stare at him, biting my lips to keep from revealing too much. He seems to realize my discomfort and his voice softens. “It’s okay, Blaine... How do you like your hair?”

I pause and release my lips. “Without the pomade. It’s like glue and I like my curls. My mother doesn’t, but I do.”

I see Kurt smirk. “Turn to your right. Look at me. Keep talking.”

“She started slicking it back when I was a little kid, said I’d thank her for it later. I didn’t know that I had curly hair until I got the mumps when I was eight and had to stay home from school for two weeks.”  
“You didn’t know until you were eight? Look up,” he instructs.

“No. Anytime it got wet, she or the nanny would come at me with the pomade and smooth it down.” I gaze up at the skylight and sigh, closing me eyes. I hear the shutter shut multiple times and Kurt make an approving sound. The kettle whistles and Kurt pauses to make the tea. I spin on the stool, watching the long line of Kurt’s back in the kitchenette.

“Sugar?” he asks.

“One.” I take the opportunity to stretch my back and yawn.

“Long week?” Kurt hands me a mug. It warms my chilled hands and the steam feels good on my face.

“It’s the week before finals.”

“Ah.” Kurt returns to the camera and as I raise the mug to my lips, he snaps a picture. “So... Got a girlfriend?” he asks nonchalantly.

I sputter and almost spit my tea out at the question. “Um... No. No, I don’t... I’m focusing on my studies right now,” I lie. Kurt nods, a small smile visible. “What about you?”

“Nope. No girlfriend. Don’t want one.” He says it casually. “People like me don’t do well with girlfriends.”

“People like you? You mean... artists?” There is a long moment of silence as Kurt stares through his viewfinder. I’m staring right back, waiting for him to take the picture.

“No. That’s not what I mean.” He takes a drink of his tea, wiping his mouth off with his wrist, beginning to circle me. “Artists make good boyfriends. We remember the folds of a favorite sweater, how the light plays off skin first thing in the morning. We are great at the small gestures and we fall in love with each sketch, poem, or photo. But I would not be a good boyfriend for a girl.” He stops right in front of me, studying me face, almost daring me to ask my next question. Or expecting me to run away screaming, the twenty dollars long forgotten.

“Why?” The question comes out as a breath as Kurt’s hand traces along the line of my jaw, his fingers impossibly hot on my skin.

He leans in close, pressing a kiss to the shell of my ear. “Because, Blaine, I’m a much better boyfriend to another boy.”


	2. Chapter 2

It’s two weeks before I hear from Kurt. I am still in my dorm, choosing to board over the summer rather than go home to my parents or move into a dingy apartment with friends for a few months. Plus, it gives me an opportunity to take Constitutional Law as a summer class, getting it over with instead of trying to do it in the year.

I’m pouring over my textbooks when Kurt calls, attempting to prepare myself the class even though it doesn’t start for another month.

“Come over,” he says. “I developed the film and I want you to see it.”

“It’s late, Kurt,” I tell him. I want to see him but it also terrifies me.

“Do you have class in the morning?”

“No.”

“Work?”

“No.”

“Then hop on your bike and come over.” He hangs up before I can argue with him. I sigh as I close my book and glance at my watch. It’s only nine thirty. If I leave now, I’d be at his studio by ten and home before midnight. Even though I grew up in New York, I am weary of being out late at night, a result of my sheltered upbringing of nannies and prep schools.

I change quickly out of my pajamas and head down to Kurt’s studio. The bike I bought with the twenty dollars isn’t the best, not nearly what my old one was, but it does the job and is sturdy enough to get me through the next two years of law school.

My thoughts have been preoccupied with Kurt since that rainy afternoon in his studio. I know what I am and while I’m becoming more okay with it, it’s been more of a theoretical idea than a practical one. I’ve been to a few bars and nightclubs for men like me but I’m to afraid of being recognized by someone to frequent those places regularly. I went to a bath house once and left within five minutes, terrified by what I saw. That’s the day my bike got stolen. I think I was so nervous that I forgot to lock it up before going into the nondescript, but still posh, building. So, here I am. A twenty-three year old homosexual virgin law student heading over to a beguiling artist’s apartment in the middle of the night. 

Even though it is such a nice night out, the streets are relatively empty. Kurt’s neighborhood is almost deserted. I pull up to his building and ring the buzzer.

“Yeah?” his voice calls out.

“It’s me.” He immediately buzzes me up without another word. I hoist my bike onto my shoulders and carry it up the five flights of stairs; I’m not taking any chances. Kurt’s door is open as I reach the landing and I wheel my bike inside.

He is laying on his back on the floor, holding negatives up to the light. He’s wearing blue linen pants and the same white shirt from two weeks ago. His hair, which had looked almost black they day I met him was actually a chestnut brown. I realized that it was dark because he kept leaning out the window to smoke. 

Tonight, he doesn’t seem to care so much about smoking inside as an ashtray full of cigarette butts is next to him. He has a record playing, something instrumental that I don’t recognize but it is low and soulful. I like it.

“Close the door behind you, please,” he says, not even bothering to look at me.

“Well, hello to you, too,” I tease, shutting the door and locking it more out of habit than anything else. There’s a couch against a wall that wasn’t there before.

Kurt moves the negative out of the light and turns his head to see me. “Hello.” 

“Hi.” I lean my bike against the wall and stand over him. He smiles up at me and a small fluttering starts in the pit of my stomach. “What’d you want to show me?” I ask, my voice catching in my throat.

Kurt smiles again and gets up. He slides the negatives into an envelope on the table in the kitchenette and goes to a door in the far corner of the room. He vanishes for a moment and returns with a large portfolio. He sits back on the couch and beckons me over. I sit nervously beside him as he unwraps the leather cord around the binder.

“They turned out better than I would have thought,” he says, opening the cover. I am instantly struck by how... normal I look. I look like any other guy that got caught in the rain and is trying to warm up. He flips through a few photos, searching for one in particular. I make him flip back every now and then and we discuss the composition of it, the lighting, my expression. He stops at one of me in profile, head tilted back and eyes closed. My mouth is opened slightly and my back is hunched. I look tired, like my dad does when he comes home for a business trip. How did I not know how much I look like him?

Kurt flips the page again and it’s the first one of me with my cup of tea. I’m leaning towards him, a hand between my legs on the stool, the mug at my lips and an eyebrow quirked, like I’m confused by a question. I look more attractive than I actually am. I can’t help but laugh.

“That doesn’t look like me.”

“That’s my favorite,” Kurt says, sounding offended.

“It’s not bad. I just don’t think I look like that.”

“No?” Kurt asks, flipping to another page. I’m stretching in this one and my undershirt is riding up my stomach, exposing my navel. I blush. Somehow, I look even more attractive in that one. He closes the portfolio abruptly. “Come with me.”

He grabs my hand and drags me to the bathroom, flicking on the light, and positions me in front of the mirror.

“What?” I ask. I really don’t know where he’s going with this.

He sighs, placing his hands on my shoulders as he stands behind me. “Look at yourself Blaine.”

I look. It’s just me. My hair is slicked back like normal and I’m wearing a green polo shirt tucked into a pair of tailored khaki pants with a woven leather belt. I don’t look like the man in the photographs.

“Okay...”

Suddenly, I feel Kurt’s body pressed against mine and his hands are reaching around me to turn the faucet on. Before I can stop him, he’s tugging my polo out of my pants and over my head and pushing my head into the sink.

“That crap needs to come out of your hair,” I hear him say over the rush of the water. His fingers are strong as they massage the pomade off my scalp, making it hard to be annoyed with him. He finally lets me up and towels my hair off, chuckling as I sputtered and wipe my face off. “Stop wearing that stuff. You don’t look like you.”

“You don’t even know me, Kurt,” I spit out, pushing him away from me. I don’t know where it comes from but all of a sudden, I’ve had enough. “You don’t know me. You took a few pictures and you have an opinion about my hair. That’s it. You know nothing else.”

Kurt steps closer to me, his thumb running down my brow to the tip of my nose. “That’s not all I know, Blaine.” 

I open my mouth to disagree but his lips are on mine before I can even think to move away. I should push him away, put my shirt on, grab my bike and go home. I should ignore all his calls and tell David’s sister off for introducing us. But I don’t.

Instead, I wind a hand around his waist and the other to his neck, holding him close. I’ve kissed girls before and it never did much for me. Now I knew why. Kissing Kurt is nothing like kissing a girl. Sure, the principle and the goal is the same but the taste, the flavor is completely different.

Kurt is obviously more experienced than I am as he back me against the sink and his lips leave mine to run down my neck and collarbone.

“Kurt,” I whimper, his hands sliding up and down my sides. I am painfully aware of how my body is reacting to his lips and fingers and it feels better than I could have imagined. When I feel his hands on my belt, I push his hands away and slip away from him. “I should go.”

I pick up my shirt from the floor and pull it over my head. I clumsily grab my bike and head for the door.

“Wait, Blaine! You can’t go out this late.”

“It’ll be fine, Kurt.” I say, fumbling with the locks on the door.

“No, it won’t. This neighborhood is fine during the day but it’s almost midnight. You can’t leave.”

“I’m sure that it’ll be fine, the police are probably out--” I wrench the door open but Kurt slams it shut.

“The police are why you can’t leave, Blaine,” he says as though it should be obvious. I stare at him, not really believing what he is saying. “Don’t tell me you didn’t know.”

“I--I didn’t think--I mean, I thought it was just stories or exaggerations.” I wheel my bike away from him. 

His panicked look tells me that he’s not lying. “Why would anyone make that shit up?” he asks incredulously.

“I guess I’m staying here then.”

We stare at each other for a moment, both trying to catch our breath. Kurt moves to the kitchenette and gets two bottle of beer out of the refrigerator, offering me one. I put my bike back against the wall and accept it. He uncaps his and tosses me his bottle opener.

“Wait, where are we going to sleep? The couch isn’t big enough for both of us” I ask, tossing the opener back to him and taking a sip of the cold beer.

He looks at me like I’m stupid. “I live here, Blaine. I have a bed. You can take the couch.”

I blush, looking away. “I just thought this was your studio and that you live somewhere else.”

“Can’t afford two rents. Even this is barely in my price range.” He sits back on the couch and opens the portfolio. “Sit down, I’ll keep my hands to my self.”

I want to tell him that I don’t want him to. That I want to feel his hands on my skin again and his lips on mine. That I don’t want to sleep on the couch but in his bed with him. But I don’t. I sit beside him and he shows me the rest of the photos as we nurse our beers. 

At some point, I stop looking at the photos and study the planes of his face. There’s a slight upturn to his nose that makes him look almost regal and now that I’m close, I can see a light freckling across it. One of his ears is pointed slightly and I have to resist the urge to run my finger along it.

“You know, it’s rude to stare,” he says, catching me off guard. I blush again. I swear, I’ve blushed more in one night than I have in my entire life.

“Sorry... It’s just... Can--can we kiss again?” I ask. I immediately look down at my feet, positive that my face is beet red. I hear Kurt chuckle and his hand reaches across my body to take my bottle from me.

“Of course we can.” He nudges me against the back of the couch, climbs into my lap, and he kisses me much more softly this time, probably aware of how new this is for me. His hands never stray further south than my neck and shoulders but mine come to rest on his hips, occasionally sliding to his butt. After when feels like hours, Kurt pulls away from me and kisses my forehead. “Come on, we can both sleep in my bed.” He feels me stiffen beneath him. “Just sleep, Blaine. Like I said before,I’ll keep my hands to myself if you want me to.”

I nod silently and he leads me to his tiny bedroom which doubles as a darkroom. He turns the light off, allowing me the privacy of darkness to undress. I remove my pants and polo before laying down beside him. We lay together, not saying anything for a long while until I carefully reach my hand to his and tug him closer.


	3. Chapter 3

“So, I want to photograph you again,” Kurt says as my fingers entwine around his.

“Why?” I ask. My thumb rubs little circles in his palm as I scoot closer to him. I have no idea what I’m doing. But I need to be closer to him. Our arms are now pressed together and the skin to skin contact is scorching hot even though it is cool night.

Kurt sighs and I feel him roll onto his side to face me. “I’ve been wanting to do a series on one person. And I like photographing you. You have excellent bone structure.” I gulp at the air, unsure of what to say. “Only if you want to. I can pay you, of course.”

I swallow, unsure of what to say. “I--you--you don’t have to pay me.”

He nuzzles (is that what it’s called?) my shoulder and yawns. “Well, I don’t want to take up too much of your time. And I’d want to take a bunch of you.”

I turn to face him, our hands still clasped together. “That’d be okay.”

“Yeah?” I feel his face move closer to mine.

“Yeah...” I reply, pressing my forehead to his. I wet my lips, unsure of whether or not I should kiss him. With my free hand, I trace a line down his arms. He is thinner than me, leaner, but his arms are muscled and defined. My fingers creep off his arm to his bare waist and I tentatively press a kiss to his parted lips. 

I don’t know why I’m nervous. I know what his lips feel like. They are smooth and supple and... knowledgeable. He knows more than me. All I know is this. The feel of his lips and the taut skin of his arms. It’s not enough. It is everything and it is not enough. And that thought is terrifying. 

Suddenly, I’m aware of how tightly he is squeezing my hand. “Kurt,” I whisper against his lips. “You can touch me if you want.”

“Oh, thank God!” he sighs, his hands flying to my neck and rolling me onto my back. He’s not on top me, but his chest is pressed to mine and it is still not enough. How is this not enough? His fingers raked through my hair, his tongue coaxing my mouth to open. My hands fly from his body and ball my fists around the sheets. “Blaine?”

I push him off me and sit on the edge of the bed. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry... I just... I don’t know how to do this.”

He scoots behind me, his chin resting on my shoulder. “We don’t have to do anything more than what we’re doing, Blaine. Until you’re used to doing this with a boy and not a girl.”

“It’s not just that, Kurt.” 

“What is it?”

I’m so grateful for how dark the room is. I can feel the blood rushing to my face (what is it about this man that makes me blush uncontrollably?). Part of me wants to lie about this but for some reason, I can’t. “I haven’t done this with anyone, boy or girl. I have no idea what I am doing, Kurt.”

Kurt says nothing but he winds his arms around my middle. Something about the gesture spurs me on. “I--I couldn’t--I can’t with girls. I can kiss them but that’s it and it does nothing for me. And I’m too scared to do this with a boy.”

“You’re doing this with me,” he says matter-of-factly, giving me a light squeeze.

“Yes, and I am overwhelmed. I don’t know how to touch you or kiss you the way you so obviously know how to touch and kiss me.” There’s a long moment and I realize how judgmental that sounds. “I mean--”

“It’s okay, Blaine.” His hands slide to my back and he begins to rub it soothingly.

“No, it’s not. How does anybody learn this stuff? Isn’t it supposed to be instinctual? Shouldn’t I just know how to kiss you because I’ve never wanted to kiss anybody as much as I want to kiss you?” I glance over my shoulder and through the darkness I can make out the outline of Kurt’s face. “Shouldn’t this be easy? I’ve never wanted someone like this.”

I can hear Kurt swallow and his voice sounds wet. He tugs me backwards to lean against his chest. “So, I’ll just have to teach you.”

“Kurt--” and his lips are on mine again. I don’t fight it this time. Instead, I relax into him, letting my self enjoy the touch of his hands and his tongue against mine. “But--”

“Shh...” he murmurs. “I’ll teach you, Blaine. And we’ll go slow.”

At some point, he lays me back down but he positions me on my side. “Why aren’t--”

“So if it’s too much, you can pull away,” he explains. We kiss some more but eventually I fall asleep.

I wake up alone. For a moment, I forget where I am then the night before comes back to me. The heavy curtains have been pulled open and the light in the room is even better than in the other room. I sit up and find my pants on the floor, tugging them on, and sitting down on the bed again. If I leave this room, it all becomes real and I have to deal with the consequences. My feet suddenly become very interesting.

There are sounds coming from the kitchenette. A coffeemaker finishing a pot, something sizzling on the stove. And a barely audible hum of Kurt as he cooks. I have to leave the room.

The door opens as I sit there, pondering what will happen next and Kurt is smiling at me, two cups of coffee in hand.

“Oh, shoot. I was looking forward to waking you up.” He grins at me crookedly and my heart stops at the sight of him. He’s wearing light grey shorts and a white shirt with red and blue stripes, his hair is sticking up haphazardly. Somehow, in the morning light, he’s more beautiful than I remembered. “Come on, breakfast is ready.”

I follow him into the other room, picking up my polo from the floor as I go. Kurt’s little table is set with plain white plates, silverware, and a bowl of orange slices in the center. I can see eggs and bacon on the stove.

“Sit,” he commands, bringing the pan of eggs over to the table. I do as he says and grab an orange slice from the bowl. He divides the eggs evenly and scoops half on to my plate and the other half on to his. He does the same with the bacon and we eat in silence for a while. “So, do you want last night to happen again?” he asks bluntly, taking a sip of his coffee.

I almost choke on my bacon. Sputtering, I say, “I--um... I don’t-- yes.”

Kurt smiles at me, leaning back in his seat and crossing his legs. “Good. Good.”

“Kurt, I want that to be a--regular thing but... I don’t want to be some kind of charity case to you. I--um. I like you. A lot.” Damnit, I’m blushing again.

Kurt’s face softens and he reaches across the table to take my hand. “I’m not running Kurt Hummel’s Introduction to Queerdom School here, Blaine. I like you, too.”

Hummel. His last name is Hummel. Kurt Hummel.

“Introduction to Queerdom?” I tease, giving his hand a squeeze. “Is there such a thing?”

He shrugs, “It’s New York. It wouldn’t surprise me.”

We say nothing, continuing to eat our breakfast, our hands still gripping the others. When my plate is empty, I let his hand go stand up to wash it at the sink. 

“I should get out of your hair,” I say, my back to him. I don’t want to leave. I’m scared that if I leave, I’ll never be brave enough to come back.

I feel his hands around my waist, his breath on my ear. For once, I’m fine with being short. 

“Stay. It’s Saturday. And there’s beautiful light today. I was serious when I said I want to do a series of you.” His voice is low and seductive and I’m all too aware of his hips pressed against mine. I pull a hand from under the water and grip his.

“Okay. I’ll stay.” His lips are on my cheek and I can feel his smile.

“Wonderful.”


	4. Chapter 4

It’s been a month since whatever this is began. My summer class begins and I start staying at Kurt’s Friday and Saturday nights. Those are our photo sessions. At least, that’s what I tell people when they ask why I spend every weekend in his tiny, stifling apartment. A few people comment on it, but most of my friends who do are broke students as well, desperate for pocket money and they ask if he’s looking for new models. 

On a Friday evening, I’m lying on the floor on a blanket Kurt usually naps under, enjoying the cool breeze from the window. It would be pleasant, but there is a tall person straddling my hips and taking close-ups of my face as I attempt to nap.

“Kurt, come on. I’m trying to sleep here,” I grumble, as he snaps another picture. He chuckles and takes another. “Kurt...” I warn, opening one eye to glare at him.

“You’re cute when you’re mad.” Snap! 

“Ugh... There is no way I look attractive or ‘cute’--” I make quotes in the air with my fingers and he takes another picture “--right now. My test today was ridiculous and I barely had the brain power to bike here.”

He smirks as he pauses to adjust a setting on his camera. “Ever notice how dumb people tend to be really good-looking and the smart ones just look stressed?”

“I don’t know how to answer that without insulting myself.” My hand slides up his thigh, skirting under the edge of his shorts. He moves his camera away from his face and leans down to kiss me lightly on the lips.

Click!

“Kurt!” I stare up at him. “What are you doing?”

“Calm down. You know I develop my own film. No one but us will ever see it.” He pulls my shirt up and I remove it completely. “Mmm... I might just do an entire section of this series on your collar bone... Or your sternum. Or those divots on your stomach. Jeez, Blaine...” He snaps a few more pictures and I sigh, finally giving in. There’s no arguing with him when he’s like this.

I put my hands behind my head and close my eyes again trying to ignore how his hips move against mine as he adjusts for different angles. He rests the camera on my stomach and I hear another click of the shutter closing. I take a deep breath and he does the same.

“Are you really taking pictures up my nose?” I ask.

He chuckles and I feel his lips on my stomach. When did he move off my hips? “I’m not, I’m taking photos of your chin and chest.”

I feel him settle between my legs, his chin digging into my hipbone and the camera still on my stomach. His nimble fingers are running along the edge of my pants. We’ve progressed this far. He’s been able to touch me without me having a complete panic attack out of fear of screwing it up some how. I still haven’t... I have yet to reciprocate but he’s been unbelievably patient and well. He takes a lot of showers.

His hands come to fly and I reach down to move the camera from my stomach.

“No, leave it,” he says, shimmying my pants and briefs off. He licks his palm and takes my half-hard cock in his hand, pumping it slowly. I return the camera to my stomach and leave my hands by my sides. “I’m going to try something new and I want to photograph your reaction to it.”

I start to argue with him but then I feel something hot and wet closing around my cock and I can’t help but moan. I hear the shutter close again but I’m too... enthralled by what is happening to do anything. I glance down and just as I do, he snaps another picture but I can see him. His lips stretched around me, head bobbing up and down slowly. Every now and then I can see a bit of his tongue and it makes my breath stop. His elbows are on either side of my hips and his hands are operating the camera, which blocks most of my view.

“Kurt... I--Good God!” I whimper, writhing beneath him. “That feels so--” I fall silent as his tongue swirls over my tip before sliding back down. Kurt moans, that must be what it is, and it sends a shiver up my body. He sinks his mouth further and further down until his nose is pressed against my lower abdomen. I can feel his throat opening, his tongue massaging me and I can’t help it. With a loud cry and a hurry of clicks, I come down Kurt’s throat, gripping the blanket it in my hands and my head thrown back.

I finish so quickly that I'm embarrassed but not for long. Kurt lays beside me, his camera moved to the floor, and wraps his arms around me, his head on my chest.  I don’t care that I’m naked or that Kurt is still fully clothed. I don’t care that he took pictures of that intimate moment. 

We haven’t discussed what we are or what are future is because we both know that it is a pointless conversation. At some point, this will have to end. I’ll have to live the life my parents want for me and Kurt will find someone new. But for now, it’s just us, lying on the floor in the summer heat, blissfully... happy. I haven’t been happy in a long time. Maybe ever. 

"Kurt," I breathe, kissing his temples.

“So, I’m guessing you liked that,” he chuckles, sighing sleepily.

“I did. Sorry, I didn’t--”

He chuckles again, pressing a finger to my lips to silence me. “Shh, Blaine. Don’t apologize.” He settles back on my chest. “It’s not like I’m never going to do that again.”

I grin at the ceiling, mentally celebrating and trying to recall what he had done so that I could try it on him at some point. 

"So, my friend is having a gallery opening tomorrow. Want to go with me?"  Our fingertips are pressed together and I am studying the differences between our hands. Kurt's fingers are long and elegant while mine are short and sturdy.  He has a small scar on his index finger on his right hand and his nails are short and smooth. 

"Like as a--a date?" I ask. This is new. We don't date. We aren’t dating.  Our relationship or arrangement or whatever isn't built around dates. The most we've done outside of this apartment was go to the market when Kurt's refrigerator broke while he was away shooting a wedding for a few days and all his food had spoiled. Not exactly a romantic first date. 

"I mean, to us it would be, I guess. And some of my friends would know."  

"Why would they know?" I ask, suddenly terrified that he's told his friends about me.  You never know who knows who and it could easily get back to my parents if we aren't careful. 

"Because they know about me, Blaine. I haven't told anyone about us, if that's what you're worried about."  His voice tells me he understands but I can tell he's still hurt that he has to be hidden away.  I wish he didn't.  "I'm not dumb. But I trust these people. Some of them are like us.  Some aren't but realize that who I fuck isn't any of their business."

I consider this for a moment. If I had things my way, I'd disappear into Manhattan as soon as I pass the bar exam, reemerging years later with the family and career my parents have always wanted for me but with a man by my side. Whenever I've daydreamed about this, the man has always been sort of faceless. Now, he had soft brown hair, pale skin and impossibly blue eyes.  I want to dismiss this vision as my virgin clingy-ness but it still gnaws at me.  Unfortunately, who I fuck, as Kurt so eloquently put it, matters to some people. 

Still, it would be nice to go somewhere with Kurt and be his date. Not have to pretend to be something that I’m not. To be affectionate in public like other couples are without fear.

"I want to go.  It'd be nice to meet some of your friends."

Kurt giggles and turns to press a kiss to my chest, lingering to swirl his tongue over my nipple.  My breath hitches as I feel a stirring in my gut. He shifts so his arm is across my chest and his face is leaning against it. He stares at my face and hums softly. 

“What?” I ask, my hand caressing his hair.

He kisses my chest again before getting up and going to the refrigerator pulling out a fresh roll of film. “Don’t move a muscle. Your post-orgasm face is almost as pretty as your orgasm face.”


	5. Chapter 5

All I want to feel is Kurt's lips. How they change depending on where they are. On my lips they soft but strong, guiding my own as they learn his own tricks and techniques. At my neck they skim across, replaced mostly by his smooth sharp teeth and tongue.  They return in full when they reach my chest, leaving wet, dark marks that make me moan and my hips thrust against his. Then they reach my hipbones and all coherent thought leaves me.  The first time he did that, I almost fainted. 

I keep expecting him to get bored with me. I am still so inexperienced in comparison that if I were him I would have been frustrated after a week. But it's almost August now and he doesn't seem done with me. On the contrary, he seems intrigued by how little I know and enjoys the few moments where I stop worrying about messing up and just enjoy it. 

A couple weeks ago, I didn't show up at his studio until after midnight after a particularly trying dinner with my parents and the second the door closed I pushed him against the wall face first and my teeth marked his back. 

The morning a last week where I woke before he did and took his cock in my mouth for the first time.  That had been messy and a bit awkward but Kurt's words of encouragement made me want to try it again.  

I had a date tonight with a girl whose mother was friends with my mother.  Sugar is perfectly nice, if a bit dim, but her endearing good looks and cheery disposition are completely wasted on me.  My mind is down in Lower Manhattan though my body is crammed into a stuffy restaurant with a girl that keeps talking about the things her daddy buys her to keep her entertained. 

I take a cab to Kurt's tonight. My bike is locked up in front of my dorm so it is the fastest way there.  Kurt had made me a key part way through the summer. We both realized that what ever this was, it wasn't going to end right away.  I let myself in and race up the stairs, taking two at a time.  As I open the door, I can hear the shower running and Kurt singing along to the radio.  I like it when Kurt sings. His voice is clear and crisp and his face is peaceful. 

"Kurt?" I call out, locking the door behind me. 

"Hey!" he answers through the bathroom door.  "How was your date?"

I stifle a frustrated groan "Dull.  She was an excellent dancer, though."  I take my sports coat off and hang it off the back of one of the chairs in the kitchenette, loosening my tie.  I unbutton my shirt and lay it on top of my jacket along with the tie.  He had said earlier that day about wanting to take another roll of film with me not wearing a shirt and I am more than happy to oblige. “Still want to shoot some tonight?”

The water shut off and I hear the metal rings scrap on the shower curtain rod. The door to the bathroom creaks open and I can see Kurt with a towel slung low on his hips. He stands in front of the mirror and rubs a lotion on his face before beginning to brush his teeth. 

“Yeah, I got a new light that I want to try. Thanks for recommending me for that wedding today, by the way. The father of the bride gave me a big tip at the end...” He is still talking but I drinking in how gorgeous he looks. I undo my belt and go into the bathroom. My fingers run down his spine, making him shiver as my lips skim along his shoulder blades. He pauses the brushing his teeth and looks at my reflection, an eyebrow slowly arching. Toothbrush still in his mouth he says, “Well, hello to you, too.”

“I missed you,” I admit, gripping his hipbones and pulling his pelvis to mine. 

Kurt spits his toothpaste into the sink and turns the faucet on for a moment. “You saw me this morning.”

“Still missed you.” Both of his eyebrows raise as my tongue circles on a spot below his ear. I pull his towel loose and let it fall to the floor. My hand snakes around his hip to his soft cock and my fingers wrap around it. Kurt groans at my touch and he leans against my chest. I may be shorter than him, but I am stronger and he is feather light by comparison. 

“You’re getting good at this.” His head leans against mine, relaxing as my hand continues to work his cock. I take a step back to rest against the wall and watch his reflection in the mirror. His eyelashes flutter with each twist of my wrist, his chest beginning to flush. 

“I’ve had a good teacher,” I tease. A smirk plays on his mouth and he nudges my hand away, turning to face me, pinning me to the wall. His lips skirt along my collarbone and his fingers break through the pomade in my hair. I can tell that he’s trying to take control of the situation but after the night I’ve had, I need to be the one leading things tonight. “Kurt...”

He nips at my skin, causing me to hiss and his fingers fumble with the buttons of my slacks. I wrap my arms around his shoulders, holding him close as my pants fall to the floor.

“There’s something I want to try,” I whisper in his ear, my breath hitching as he palms my cock. I can feel his, completely bare and stiff from my hand, pressing just below my navel.

“Really?” he purrs, shifting to his knees and pressing his hot mouth to my fabric covered cock. “Because there was something I had in mind--”

I don’t give him the chance finish his sentence before I’ve got him trapped beneath my body and his mouth silenced with my lips. We adjust ourselves so Kurt has a leg on each side of me, tugging me closer and we are gently rocking together. Our time together has been a series of moments that somehow come back to this odd, instinctual attraction to one another. It’s become unavoidable. Making breakfast turns to kissing against the refrigerator. Studying on the couch while he takes pictures of me becomes a rush of hands and mouths until I spill over his fingers. Going to sleep on a hot summer night isn’t complete unless we are curled around each other on top of the sheets.

And then there is this moment.  Kurt on his back on the bathroom floor, his legs spread wide and cradling my hips.  Nails digging into my arms as my hips rock against his. Separated only by my boxers.  My face is buried in his neck, breathing in his scent.  He's fresh from the shower so it's just... him.  

And his lips. 

Which are currently next to my ear and groaning with each movement of my hips. 

We’ve done this before. Frequently, in fact. But usually it’s Kurt who is on top and I’m left to melt into the sheets or floor. But all through my very awkward dinner with Sugar, I kept thinking about Kurt’s legs around my waist and his beautiful skin rubbing against mine. I feel his heel dig into my butt cheek, pulling me closer, and his fingers tugging my face to his.   
And he’s kissing me. 

Simply kissing me and I don’t want air. I would be happy to stay forever like this, on his bathroom floor, one of his legs around my waist and the other twisted around one of mine. His tongue traces along my bottom lip. One of my hands grips his hip and gives him a light squeeze.

“Christ, Blaine, sweetie--” he gasps, throwing his head back and exposing his gorgeous throat. I still my hips and stare down at him. He looks up at me, confused. “What’s wrong?” His voice is thing and breathless and I gulp for air at the thought that I made him sound like that.

“It’s just--um--you called me ‘sweetie’,” I say. “You’ve--uh--you’ve never done that before.”

“Oh. I--”

“I liked it,” I blurt out. “I liked it a lot.”

Kurt smiles up at me, nudging a lock of my hair off my forehead. “Then I’ll be sure to do it again, sweetie.” He leans up to press a line of kisses to my jaw. “Come on, we can finish this later and, well, on my bed. I have lights I want to play with a handsome man to photograph.”

My head drops beside his neck and I mentally curse my lack of focus. His arms wrap around my back and I can hear him humming happily.

“So long as we’re mentioning new things that we like... I like having you on top of me,” he murmurs in my ear.

“Really?” I ask. 

“Really. Your pressed against me and I can feel everything.” His hand snakes between us and presses against my chest. “Like you heartbeat. And how your muscles flex when you move.” His leg around my waist tightens, grinding his pelvis against mine and drawing out a long, low moan from me. “And I can feel how much you want me.”

I trace a line down his face with me thumb, watching his clear blue eyes. “Bed first, photos after?”

Kurt nods silently and his legs untangle themselves from my body. I crawl off him, offering hand to help him up. Hand in hand, we go into the bedroom, both content with the new discoveries we’ve made with each other.


End file.
